


A Late Night

by TheQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: Sometimes Harry just needs someone to talk to.Commissioned by alacrity-alacritous





	A Late Night

They’re awake well past midnight holed up on the edge of the library where the large bay windows look out across the expansive castle grounds and the lake in the distance. The silhouette of the great squid pressed against the blinding white of the moon. The crackle of a distant fire the only thing he truly hears past his heart and his breathing.  

He’s flipping through a ridiculously large textbook, hand illustrated and written sometime in the 1700s, the pages nicely yellowed and the smell of history soaked deep into the ink and leather, when it properly hits him.  _ He’s 12 _ , he thinks. He’s 12 and he has so much to do. 

It’s a strange thought. Before Hogwarts, before the letters that changed his life forever, his existence revolved around what his family desired, the chores he had to do, and whatever homework or exams he had to slog through. He hadn’t had any real thoughts of the future, hadn’t dared to truly dream of a life beyond Private Drive. There was no point when he was reminded day in and day out that it was all useless.

And now he’s here.

Slowly, he lowers the heavy 18th century work and turns his head to stare out the window. A few of the upper year students whisper to themselves in the corner of the room and he turns to them with blank eyes before looking back out. They’re probably studying for some exam he’ll have to take one day. Perhaps they were taking a study break to guawk at the subject’s of the school’s latest, unfounded, unnecessary rumors. 

He closes his eyes. 

“Harry?”

He blinks, sluggish in the sudden onset of heat. His cheeks feel flushed. His heart picks up and he takes a deep, stuttering breath. “Y-yeah?”

Hermione sets her own equally ridiculously large textbook down--and not for the first time Harry wonders at the practicality of it all, sticking to handwritten instead of moving to print like the muggle world--and stares at him with her owlishly wide eyes. “Are you alright?”

He laughs. 

It’s not meant to be funny. He doesn’t really find it funny, not in the proper way. Not in a haha, good joke sort a way. But in a pathetic way; a sad and pathetic and wholly miserable way. How often has someone ever asked him if  _ he _ was okay?

He wipes at his cheeks with the back of his sleeve and sniffles. 

“Harry,” Hermione whispers. He thinks he hears the group of older students moving about, gathering their supplies. He turns his face from the fire in hopes they don’t see his tear marks on his cheeks. 

“I think everyone hates me now,” Harry says quietly. 

It’s only been a few days since the petrification of Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick. A few days since McGonagall had humiliatingly dragged him off to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office to fuel the fire of the rumors circulating around the school. Heir of Slytherin.  _ Heir of Slytherin.  _

He could speak parseltongue. He had defeated the darkest wizard to walk the earth in their lifetime as a baby. He happened open every instance that sealed his fate. 

He figures if he’d been Ernie and his Hufflepuff friends he’d think he was quite evil as well. 

“I… I don’t think everyone hates you,” Hermione mumbles. She’s flustered, cheeks warmed by both the fire and the discomfort. And his stomach sours. She’d never been one for emotional conversations. 

“Right… yeah,” Harry clears his throat and wipes at his cheeks once more. He takes a deep calming breath and clears his throat. “Nevermind. Sorry -- I um… “ he gestures to the text in front of him and slowly lifts the textbook up, resting it somewhat comfortably on his lap and the edge of the table. 

There is a moment of stifled silence before Hermione speaks again. “Logically,” she says, voice just above a whisper. “It’s impossible to consider everyone hates you. Certainly… certainly there are rumors but I would argue not everyone believes them.”

“Of course,” Harry agress, hopeful Hermione would drop it. 

Another moment of silence and then he hears the closing of a heavy book and the movement of robes until he looks to his left to find Hermione had moved to sit next to him. “I would imagine Ron would be better at this,” Hermione admits. “I’m not always the best at people. I think we both know that.” She offers a humbling smile and he smiles back. “But I don’t think we should ignore this one.”

“Hermione…”

“I used to get bullied you know,” she says, looking first at the table and then at Harry. “When I went to normal school, muggle school… well no one likes a know it all. And they had a bad habit of saying all sorts of untrue things that would circle around. Girls,” she said with utmost seriousness. “Tend to gossip.” 

Harry nods. He was more than familiar with nasty rumors. Even before Hogwarts, the Dursleys liked to _ say  _ things. 

She takes a deep breath and crosses her arms. “The best way I learned to handle it was… to be logical about it,” she shrugs and looks at Harry. “They’re being emotional so we only benefit from being logical.”

“And how,” Harry asks, “should I be logical?”

“Well here are the things we know,” she says grabbing her notebook and quill from the other side of the table. “One,” she writers a large “1” on the top of a new page. “We know you are not the heir of Slytherin.”

“I can speak parseltongue,” Harry argues. 

Hermione frowns. “We know Salazar Slytherin wasn’t the only parseltongue in existence,” she argues. “But we don’t know if his bloodline is the only bloodline that can speak it. Just because the theory is popular doesn’t mean the theory is right.” She brandishes her quill like a sword and points it threateningly at Harry. “False equivalents are not logical.”

He nods, eyeing the quill suspiciously as she returned it to the page. He wouldn’t put it past Hermione to figure out how to turn her quill into a wand. 

“Two,” she turns to Harry. “What else?”

“Um… I’ve only ever come upon them afterwards,” Harry offers. She writes it down. “And I -- I um…”

“You’re looking for the answer,” she adds under “3” helpfully. “Which actually, if you think about it logically, makes you the enemy of the heir of slytherin.”

“Logically,” Harry echoes.

Hermione smiles, “Logically.”

“Well… it’s all good and well that you and I know that I’m not the heir,” Harry mumbles, looking out the window. The squid is gone now, the stillness of the courtyard broken only by the barely there rustle of wind through trees silhouetted against the moon. “Doesn’t help the rest of the school’s opinions much.”

Hermione hums softly, tapping her page with the end of the quill. “No I suppose it doesn’t.”

“I just…” Harry shrugs. “I didn’t ask for any of this you know.” He gestures at the scar on his head. “I don’t want the attention or anything. I just… wanted to get away from the Dursleys. I wanted to understand my parents. Now,” he laughs humorlessly. “I’m the most hated person in school.”

“Logically, I would argue that was Malfoy,” She bumps his shoulder lightly and Harry can’t help but laughs.  _ Okay, fair. _ “But… Yes. It’s not fair. But bullies never care about fair, do they?”

Harry shrugs, “Well, what can we do? The whole thing rather looks pointless doesn’t.” He gestures at the paper.

Hermione writes a number “4” on the list. “Remember they’re wrong, I think,” she says quietly. Slowly she writes in her neatest handwriting “Harry’s friends were hurt in the attacks.”

“Five,” she says, “Harry doesn’t like hurting people.”

He watches as she writes 6, 7 and 8. “Harry cares about people. Harry cares about the safety of the students of Hogwarts. Harry would never hurt his friends.”

“Nine,” she says. “Harry is a good person.”

Harry feels the prickle of tears in the corner of his eye.  

“You’re a good person,” Hermione reminds him, tearing out the sheet from her notebook and handing it to Harry. “You just have to remember that. They’ll remember soon enough.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Harry whispers, wiping at the corner of his eyes. 

She smiles, “You’re welcome.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by alacrity-alacritous@tumblr! Thank you so much for your support. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> My tumblr: TheQueen117.tumblr.com


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